Chapter Seven

The evening air hummed with tension as Elena stepped aboard La Regina. The opulence of the yacht matched the grandeur of the gala she'd attended days before, with a guest list that read like a Who’s Who of society's elite. Tonight, though, she was Vincent Macini's co-host, on paper. They’d been together for months now—partners in crime, occasional lovers, but always walking the razor’s edge of mutual benefit and distrust.

Dressed in a tailored black tuxedo, Vincent’s bowtie was slightly askew, his sandy brown hair styled in a windswept look that added to his roguish charm. The way he carried himself with a cocky flair always rubbed at Elena the wrong way.

"Stay close, Elena," Vincent murmured, his tone laced with possessiveness as he grabbed her arm.

She arched an eyebrow, slipping her arm out of his grasp with practiced ease. “I wouldn’t dream of wandering off, darling.” Her smile was tight, and the sarcasm in her voice sharp enough to cut.

Vincent's eyes narrowed briefly before he gave her a thin-lipped smile, smoothing the bowtie that was ever so slightly askew. “Good girl.”

Elena wasn’t a newbie to his condescending attitude, though she never let him best her. He always said it’s her angst that made her interesting.

As they ascended the grand staircase to the main deck, Elena took in the yacht’s meticulous design—Vincent’s signature style, every detail deliberate.

This was no ordinary party; it was a deliberate display of power, given the throngs of political figures and business tycoons, all here to curry favor with him.

Vincent, with his easy charm and polished words, navigated the crowd like a master puppeteer. Elena, trailing beside him, played her role, her expression serene but her mind distant.

The contrast between Vincent and Lorenzo Salvatore crossed her mind more than once that night. Where Vincent sought to impress with charm, Lorenzo commanded respect with presence. Vincent’s envy, though never openly voiced, was palpable in every interaction they ever had about the Salvatores.

"Must be thrilling, hosting the crème de la crème," Elena remarked, her voice laced with false admiration.

Vincent’s smile was a touch too smug as he adjusted his cufflinks, clearly savoring the attention. “It’s not just about wealth, Elena. Power comes from making sure everyone knows who’s in control.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, her irritation barely concealed. "How... enlightening."

She felt eyes watching her and pushing his voice to the background, she scanned the attendees with unadulterated concentration, trying to find the culprit.

“Elena?” Vincent’s voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and demanding. “Are you listening?”

“Always,” she said quickly, forcing her attention back to him. “What did you say?”

“I need you to keep a low profile tonight. The Salvatore brothers are here somewhere. Now, I know you have an unpleasant history with them, but I expect you to behave.” His eyes narrowed, the hint of arrogance in his voice making her stomach churn.

“I know how to handle myself, Vincent,” she replied, her voice steady but laced with an edge. “You don’t need to babysit me.”

“Good,” he said, though the skepticism was obvious. “I hear Lorenzo took a shine to you the last time and you stuck a knife in him. I like that Chica, but let’s just hope he doesn’t get too focused on sniffing around you today. I don’t like sharing.”

Ignoring his rant, Elena adjusted the strap of her sleek black gown, its shimmering fabric catching the light from the lights overhead. It hugged her form just right—elegant without being overtly flashy. A simple silver bracelet dangled from her wrist, and her hair, pulled into a loose knot, exposed the delicate curve of her neck, a small vulnerability she rarely allowed.

Without warning, Vincent snaked an arm around her waist and drew her close with a force that surprised her. She flashed him a look of irritation, a warning simmering beneath the surface, but before she could speak, she spotted Lorenzo at the edge of the crowd.

Dressed in a charcoal suit that absorbed the light, Lorenzo exuded an effortless command that made conversations falter and eyes flick toward him with barely concealed awe. Unlike Vincent, Lorenzo didn’t need to posture—his presence did the talking for him.

“Lorenzo,” Vincent called, his tone carefully controlled as they approached.

Lorenzo turned, his gaze sweeping over Vincent before landing on Elena. A slow, amused smile tugged at his lips as he took them both in, his eyes lingering on Vincent’s possessive hands around her waist.

“Vincent. I see you’ve brought... company.” His voice was smooth, yet there was an underlying current in his tone as he openly assessed Elena.

“Allow me to introduce you to Elena,” Vincent said, his hand settling possessively on the small of her back. “I don’t think you’ve met my partner.”

The introduction was deliberate, Vincent's claim clear. Elena suppressed a roll of her eyes at his introduction, but played along, offering Lorenzo a polite smile.

“Ah, of course.” Lorenzo’s gaze lingered on Elena a second longer than was necessary, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. “Quite a partnership, I imagine.”

He stretched his hands at her. “My name is Lorenzo Salvatore and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Romano.” Elena swallowed as he held her hand a fraction longer, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Now that you’ve met her, I want you to take notice. You will be seeing her more often… On papers I mean…” Vincent flashed Lorenzo a grin and wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Lorenzo smiled sweetly, barely acknowledging Vincent's efforts.

Elena bristled at the thought that his need to flaunt her was more about showing off to Lorenzo than anyone else here. She pondered what the unspoken rivalry was between them that it hung in the air like a heavy cloud.

Vincent turned around and Elena followed suit as they continued to mix and greet the other guests, moving farther from where Lorenzo stood.

“Behave,” Vincent muttered under his breath as he moved to greet a group of business tycoons, leaving Elena standing alone.

She slipped away from the throng of guests, her steps quickening as she headed toward the outer deck, desperate for some air. The laughter and chatter of the party faded as she found herself staring out at the dark horizon, the cool breeze biting at her exposed skin. She ran a hand through her hair, tamping down at her frustration with how Vincent had handled the evening.